


i fall in love whenever we meet

by leighbot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Surgery, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: “You had on operation on your back, babe. D’you not remember?” the man says as he reaches a hand out to rub gently at Harry’s chest.Harry turns back again, feeling queasy with all of the movements. “No. I’m sorry… are you my doctor, too?”“No, I’m not your doctor. My name is Zayn, H. Do you remember me?”“Zayn,” Harry repeats, enjoying the way the word buzzes at the tip of his tongue.Or, the one where Harry has temporary amnesia after surgery; he doesn't need his memories to know he loves Zayn.





	i fall in love whenever we meet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anikaenator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anikaenator/gifts).



> Hi anikaenator! I took a couple of your prompts and tweaked them. It's a bit fluffier than I think you requested but I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> All thanks to L for the lookover even though she had fifty thousand things to do all at the same time. Title from Whitney ♥

The bed is stiff.

The first thought Harry has as he wakes up is that the bed is _so_ stiff he may as well be sprawled out on a slab of cement. He’s not entirely sure it’s his own bed- doesn’t think he could bear this pain every day- but he also isn’t entirely sure it’s _not_ his own bed. He’s confused and can’t remember the last time he was in a bed that wasn’t so flat and unforgiving. The pillow his head is resting on is soft, though, and he tries to press his head harder against it but his whole body is stiff and he can’t move much. He groans, exasperated, and that’s when he hears the beeping above his head.

“Harry?” a loud, almost mean voice asks.

That’s him, he’s Harry. Okay, so that must mean he’s probably in his own bed if someone knows his name here. He tries to blink open his eyes but he finds that they’re heavy and he can’t. They’re shut and they’re staying that way.

“Harry?” the voice repeats. Harry thinks it’s coming from a woman but he doesn’t recognize it. “Can you hear me?”

“Mmmmmrrrryeah,” he says, throat completely sore and voice shot. Has he been chewing off pieces of the cement bed? “Wherem? Where-” he coughs, almost thinking he’s going to choke on the dryness, “am I?” he clarifies.

Someone laughs softly next to him and he’s pretty positive it’s coming from a different person than the disembodied voice but he feels a tug at his cheek when he tries to turn towards it. The laugh is a beautiful sound, like the best kind of music, and Harry wants to hear it again. He wants to hear it so many more times.

“Who-?” he trails off into a cough. How many people are in his bedroom with him? Does he know them all?

“Can you open your eyes, Mr. Styles?” the loud woman asks. She has an unpleasant voice, nothing like the sound of the laughter, and Harry would like for her to go away and leave him with the other person.

“No, I can’t,” Harry sighs, disappointed in himself.

“Can you try?” Loud _and_ bitchy, Harry thinks. He immediately feels bad for his thoughts, knows better than to judge, but he can’t regret the sentiment completely when he’s lying on a hard slab and everything inside of him hurts.

The beeping is getting louder and Harry debates whether he’d like the beeping to stop or the woman to leave more. He interrupts his own arguments for and against each when he realises with surprise that he can _feel_ the individual muscles in his face. He’s extraordinarily aware of the way the skin around his eyebrows tightens as he attempts to blink his eyes open again. No go.

“It’s not working,” he says. His forehead creases with the effort and his temples throb with something that feels like fatigue though he’s clearly just been sleeping.

“You should try again, babe. You got this,” the musical person says as a hand cups Harry’s cheek. Harry feels his skin buzz where the man is touching him.

“It’s like m’face is… humming in satisfaction,” he says to himself, though he knows the man and woman can both hear him.

“Wow, you’re super high, darlin’,” the man says with another laugh.

Harry laughs back. Is that what’s happening to him, he wonders silently. Is he high? He doesn’t think he’s ever been before. If he is, he’s not going to be for long because the buzzkill with the mean voice will probably ruin it for him.

The musical man snorts and Harry thinks he may have said the last bit aloud. Oops.

“Maybe don’t think so hard right now, H. Try opening yer eyes again.”

Maybe _that’s_ why he can feel the little muscles in his forehead- because he’s thinking so much. He tries to think less, pretends he’s on a more comfortable bed with only the musical person around and not the loud person. Maybe they’re on a beach. Calm, peaceful. He thinks he can see the ocean if he tries hard enough.

Oops, he might have to open his eyes to get a better view.

With a literal Herculean effort- like, there’s no way a mythological god doesn’t do the work for him- he pries open his eyes and blinks furiously against immediate tears building at the corners. The ceiling is white, clinically white and brighter than the sun. “Is this Heaven?” he asks. He would have thought Heaven would have more comfortable beds- ones that feel like clouds, even- but there’s no other explanation he can immediately think of.

A sharp pain flares out on his arm and he tugs it away, feeling his shoulder and back twinge with the movement. He turns his face towards the pain and meets the eye of a woman in a coat so white she nearly blends into the room from her neck to her knees. “Did that hurt?” she asks.

“Bloody hell,” he says, confused and irritated. He hopes she can read the ‘yes’ in his words.

“Then you’re very much alive,” she says with a nod.

“Did you _pinch_ me?”

“Proved a point,” she answers, pulling a clipboard out from seemingly thin air and writing something down.

“Pinching is for _dreams_ not heav………en,” he says, his last word split into at least two when he turns away from who he’s figuring out is probably a doctor or maybe someone dressed up for Halloween. He catches sight of the other person in the room. Harry had thought his laugh was musical and his voice had felt warm like a heated pool, the water lapping gently at his chest, but the sound of him does nothing to prepare Harry for his looks. He’s the kind of pretty that makes every other thing in the world seem immediately homely and unappealing. “This has got to be Heaven.”

The man smiles, teeth white against pretty pink lips as his even prettier hazel eyes roll in a teasing manner. The motion is familiar but Harry’s certain he’s never seen the man before. “Babe,” the man says, “how do ya feel?”

“You called me babe,” Harry says in the only thing he can attempt in an answer. He hears the giggle in his voice like he’s thirteen years old again with a crush on his neighbour. “I like the way you say that.”

The man’s eyes narrow and he tilts his head like a dog that’s been asked if he’d like to go for a walk. Harry doesn’t like the way the expression twists his pretty face and makes him appear sad. “Harry, do you know my name?”

Harry frowns and tries to shake his head. The movement makes him dizzy so he closes his eyes again and twists so he’s facing the ceiling direct on again. The tug at his cheek relaxes and he reaches up a lead-weighted hand to feel out a piece of gauze taped across his cheek. “Wait… you’re a doctor,” he says, turning his head away from the pretty man and opening his eyes the barest amount to glare at the woman. “If you’re a doctor then I’m… in the hospital?”

The doctor’s dark eyes narrow and she makes another note on her clipboard. Her mouth is also pursed and Harry realises he can see her exhaustion in the heaviness of her eyelids.

“Am I okay?”

“You had on operation on your back, babe. D’you not remember?” the man says as he reaches a hand out to rub gently at Harry’s chest.

Harry turns back again, feeling queasy with all of the movements. “No. I’m sorry… are you my doctor, too?”

“No, I’m not your doctor. My name is Zayn, H. Do you remember me?”

“Zayn,” Harry repeats, enjoying the way the word buzzes at the tip of his tongue. He circles the letters over again, reading enough from the reactions of the people around him to know he should have more familiarity with the name already. He just… can’t sort it all out in his head. He feels so tired; that may have something to do with it. “Are you my nurse? You’re pretty like the nurses in the films.”

“No, Harry.”

The doctor clears her throat and Harry glances towards her. “It’s common for patients coming out of anesthesia to experience temporary cognitive impairment,” the doctor says in what she might think is a soothing manner, though Harry disagrees. If anything, he feels a wave of panic growing in his chest but it won’t break for some reason. He turns his head back towards Zayn and an IV hookup catches his eye. He follows the line down the metal rod, across to his bed and he winces when he sees where it ends in a needle in his hand.

That explains the pain there, then.

“What is this?” he asks.

“It’s Ketorolac for pain management and it will help with any inflammation,” the doctor explains. “It’s not responsible for the memory loss or your overall… demeanor currently. That’s from the lingering anesthetic in your system. It’s expected that the effects last past the end of the operation.”

“Why did I have an operation– did I have an accident?” he feels like he was _just_ told this but he can’t find the words in his memory. He closes his eyes and turns his head from side to side.

“You had spinal fusion surgery – we fused together several vertebrae to help correct some nerve pain you’ve been experiencing for the better part of a decade.”

“ _Growing pains_ ,” Harry says, the phrase coming to him out of nowhere. He blinks. He’s heard that said to him before, he just doesn’t know who has been saying it to him. Maybe his mum. “Was it, um… successful?”

The doctor nods, smiling for the first time. It changes everything about her demeanor and Harry feels himself relaxing again. “Your temporary amnesia should lift within the next twenty-four hours but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s gone sooner. Your husband will keep you company for now.”

Harry nods as she leaves the room, feeling himself go weightless against his pillows as he exhales deeply out of his nose. He isn’t sure what he should do now, just wait for his memory to reboot, he guesses but then her words catch up to him. “Wait a second, my _husband_?”

Zayn shifts in his squeaky hospital chair and Harry risks whiplash turning to face him.

“ _Are you my husband?”_

“Mmm, guilty, I guess.” Zayn looks worried, still, his brows furrowed tightly together. “Do you feel okay, though? Besides your memory?”

“My arm’s a bit sore. Like in my shoulder.”

Zayn’s fingers trace soothing circles up from Harry’s elbow until he’s massaging at his shoulder gently. “That’s from being on your shoulder during the procedure. You should be okay soon.” Every time Zayn’s touched him, he’s been so very careful and purposeful, and he finds every sore spot on Harry’s body without question.

“Are you sure you’re not a doctor?” Harry asks. “You’re searching me with your hands, is all.”

“Never said I wasn’t a doctor, H. Just that I’m not yers.” Zayn’s brow is smooth as glass again, his posture even more relaxed. “I’ve got a surgery near home.”

Harry doesn’t respond right away, a carousel of things he’s learning spinning through his mind: he’s in hospital recovering from an operation, he’s married, his husband is a doctor… “I’m married to _you_?” Harry asks, incredulous. He needs to just be sure.

“Is that okay?” Zayn asks, a sexy little smirk on his face that makes Harry feel like he could chub up if he was on just a _little_ less medicine.

“Heaven,” Harry confirms, closing his eyes for a moment. “This is Heaven,” he murmurs. The bright white of the room is hurting his head, he thinks, and his fist clenches in the blanket over his waist.

“You okay, H?”

“Lights are bright,” he says, a pout on his lips. He can hear Zayn shuffling around and he tilts his head to follow the sound, blinking open his eyes when he hears the flick of the light switch. “Thanks,” he says, smiling again.

There’s enough light coming in from the open door that he can track Zayn’s movement as he comes back over to the bed. He takes a seat in a stuffed armchair, one leg crossed over the other as he gives Harry a cautious glance.

“I’m okay,” Harry assures him, lifting one of his fifty-tonne arms and holding out his hand. Zayn takes it immediately, carrying the weight of it as he cups both palms around Harry’s fingers and kisses at his knuckles.

“You were in there for a long time- a few hours longer than we thought it’d be.”

“Were you worried?” Harry asks, getting angry. He already knows he never wants Zayn to feel worry, or fear, or anything other than beautiful joy. He’s been the one to cause those feelings; he’s mad at himself.

“A little,” Zayn says.

“Nooooooo.”

“It’s worth it though, if this finally helps you. You’ve been in pain a long time, baby.”

“You’re so handsome,” Harry says. “I can’t believe you’re really my husband.”

Zayn laughs. “I know you’re having memory problems but ya do know what you look like, right?”

“Am I good looking?” Harry teases. It’s not that he doesn’t remember _anything_ \- he would recognize his own reflection, he thinks. It’s just that he’s confused one minute to the next. Something in his head is weird, all the knowledge plugged back, and he doesn’t have the energy to open it up just yet.

“You know you are.”

“I think a little kiss will restore my memory.”

Zayn stands and crosses over, perching on the edge of the bed. He cups Harry’s cheek, his thumb running over the plaster.

“How’d I hurt my cheek during back surgery?” Harry asks, Zayn’s touch serving as a reminder.

“You scratched yourself. Meant to scratch yer nose, I think.” Zayn leans down, pressing his lips to the edge of the tape. He smells like mints. Harry knows immediately that Zayn’s been sucking on the little round ones that come in the green bag and he doesn’t know if that counts as a _memory_ but it’s something he’s certain of. He tips his head back into the pillow to align their lips.

There’s no rush of memories or anything that Harry thought might actually happen but he pulls away with a smile regardless. “You’re a good kisser,” he says.

“That wasn’t even my best,” Zayn answers, both hands on Harry’s body now. One edges the collar of his hospital gown and the other scratches gently through his hair as he closes the distance between them again.

Zayn doesn’t pull away for a few minutes and Harry wouldn’t let him if he tried. They share each other’s space and trade soft kisses while Harry feels as though his head is floating in the ocean somewhere far from land – buoyed by the currant but unable to swim ashore.

“I’ve got a lot of weird metaphors going on in me head right now,” he admits to Zayn in a whisper. “It’s a little scary I don’t remember you.”

“It’s just the medicine,” Zayn assures him. “You’re loopy from anesthesia, that’s all.”

“What if it’s more than that- what if I’ve forgotten you?”

“You haven’t.” Zayn pulls back just far enough to see Harry’s face without his eyes crossing. He studies him intently, almost as though he’s cataloguing every pore, every eyelash, every hint of a wrinkle. “You were under for a lot longer than we thought,” he repeats. At least… Harry thinks he’s already said that. “You had us all worried.”

“Us all?” Harry asks, brow furrowed. He lifts his hand, the IV line tugging gently at his skin, and touches his fingers to Zayn’s jaw. It feels like his arm weighs a tonne but he wants to move it anyway. He wants to know if Zayn’s skin feels as warm as it looks. It does. He feels exhaustion creep up his chest from his belly and he settles his arms back on the bed next to him. “Who is ‘us all’?

Zayn smiles before he presses another kiss to Harry’s mouth. “Our daughters, babe.”

He’s in hospital recovering from an operation, he’s married, his husband is a doctor, he has _daughters_.

Harry can feel how wide his eyes are, the muscles in his face stiff as he holds it for a long moment. He opens his mouth but doesn’t know what to say. He closes it again. Another potential thought begins to take form. His lips part. He forgets it immediately. His lips meet again.

“You’re making a fish mouth.”

“We have daughters?”

“We do,” Zayn confirms. “Wanna see their pictures? Might jog your memory a bit.”

Zayn pulls his phone out of his back pocket and hands it over. Harry fumbles it a bit, fighting off sleep as he touches the lock screen. Two little girls are playing in a vegetable patch, their dark hair obscuring their faces as they dig in the dirt. “They aren’t twins, though they look it,” Zayn says, thumbing at the phone’s fingerprint sensor and pulling up the photo gallery.

“Born eight months apart,” Harry says, smiling when Zayn glances over at him. “It’s all there, just some of it is taking its time coming back to me.”

“That’s Margot,” Zayn says, looking back to the phone. The light is bright in the dark room and Zayn pulls down the settings menu to dim it.

“I picked out Margot,” Harry guesses as he studies the photo of a little girl in coveralls that are dotted with paint and feathers. “Margot Fonteyn.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, leaning further on the bed again and helping Harry manage the phone. “You’re pushing them both into ballet but it’s not working out for you yet. This was an art project you wanted their help with- you were obviously responsible for baths that night.”

“I don’t think I’m an artist,” Harry frowns, blinking heavily. “Doesn’t sound right.”

“You wanted something to hang in the front hall. Here we’ve got Maven: she absolutely worships you.” Harry grins at the photo of him holding Maven in his lap on a swing set.

“They’re so beautiful,” he says, sadness clouding the front of his mind when he realises he isn’t going to stay awake much longer. He can feel sleep right at the corners of his eyes as he flips through a dozen more photos.

Zayn must be able to tell because he takes the phone away, kissing Harry’s hand when he tries to reach for it. “We’ll look more the next time you’re up,” he promises. He makes to get off the bed.

“Don’t go,” Harry pleads.

“I shouldn’t be in bed with you, you need rest and not another solid weight to bear.”

“Just until I fall asleep?” Harry compromises. “The bed’s like marble but you’re like a plushie toy.”

Zayn laughs, burying his smile in Harry’s shoulder. Harry lets himself relax again, his curls adding to the softness of his pillow as he finally lets himself slip fully under the wave of sleep that’s been pulling at him since he woke.

 

 

 

The bed is stiff.

The first thought Harry has as he wakes up is that the bed is _so_ stiff he may as well be sprawled out on a slab of cement.

Wait…

He blinks his eyes open, thankful the light in the room is off when he feels a massive headache smash against his forehead and temples like it’s trying to ram its way out of his head. “Oh boy,” he says, lifting his hand and rubbing at his forehead.

Someone’s clothing is rustling near him and he turns his head to see Zayn curled up in the most uncomfortable looking armchair Harry has ever seen. Zayn must have heard his groan because his eyes open and he’s at Harry’s bedside a second later.

“I’ve never seen you move so fast,” Harry laughs, feeling like he’s been hit by a lorrie and hasn’t moved in a year. “No, that’s not true: the first night we had the girls when Maven had hiccoughs- you _ran_ out the room to call the pediatrician.”

“I was nervous!” Zayn defends himself, his shoulders dropping as he relaxes. “Hey- you remember me.”

“’Course I do,” Harry scoffs. He tries to adjust himself in the bed but he groans in pain when he tries.

“Stay still, hold on,” Zayn advises, pushing at Harry’s shoulder to keep him flat down. “I can move the whole bed up a bit.”

“Thirsty,” Harry pouts, grinding his teeth in a grimace as he feels the bed begin tilting. “What happened?”

“You had an operation, do you remember that?”

“On my back, yeah,” Harry nods, remembering clearly. He’d known it would be painful but he uncharitably for a moment thinks he would rather be dealing with the pain he had been living with than this unknown agony hitting him everywhere all at once. “Christ on a cracker,” he swears.

“Water?” Zayn holds up a cup and helps Harry aim the straw to his mouth. Harry tries to drink deeply but he coughs on the first bit and has to stop. Zayn hands him a tissue and he wipes at his mouth. He takes the next sip slowly.

“Why’d you say that- about remembering you?”

“You didn’t know me a few hours ago when ya first woke up.”

“Shut up,” Harry scoffs again.

“Yeah, no, really. You thought I was a hot nurse of sommat. Didn’t know we were married.”

Harry doesn’t believe him.

“You kept saying you was in Heaven.”

Oh. Right. Harry gets a flashback of a memory and suddenly the whole episode is playing out in his head. “Oh my _god_ , I thought that was a dream.”

“Nah, m’fraid not,” Zayn says, holding out a bowl of something. Harry looks inside and wrinkles his nose. Applesause. “You look like Maven right now – eat your food, H.”

Harry knows not to argue but he pouts as he accepts the bowl and then a spoon. “Are the girls okay?”

“Mum’s taking care of them,” Zayn assures him, taking a seat on the mattress near Harry’s waist. “Wanna call them?”

“Please?”

Zayn shifts off the bed and circles it to crouch down by the chair he’d been using when Harry first woke up. Harry lifts his head forward from the bed, feels the strain as he cranes his neck while trying to not move his shoulders much. “Are you looking at my arse?” Zayn asks, not looking up from where he’s digging through a shoulder bag.

Harry isn’t even phased. “’Course I am,” he admits. “’S nice.”

Zayn snorts. He rummages for a moment longer and Harry settles back against the bed, his neck sore already from holding the weight of his head. It’s probably heavy from all his hair. He makes grabby hands eagerly for the smartphone in Zayn’s hands when he stands. “How many daughters do we have?” he can’t help but ask, smirking when Zayn’s eyes get wide. “Too soon?”

“Yer a prick and you don’t get to talk to them anymore,” Zayn says, though he takes his seat again and pulls up his mum’s contact information.

“Love that photo of you,” Harry says as the sound of ringing fills the air around them.

“Hi, baby,” Trisha’s voice comes over the line. Even if Harry was still having memory problems, he doesn’t think he could forget his mother-in-law; her voice is as warm as a sunrise and so similar to Zayn’s that he would understand her significance regardless of anything. “How’s our Harry? Is he there?”

“Hi mum, he’s here.”

“Hi,” Harry says, drawing out the syllable. He loves her so much. ‘Our Harry’.

“Hi, baby,” she repeats. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore everywhere,” he admits. “Apparently I woke up and forgot I was married to your son.”

“Did you make eyes at any of the hospital staff? Your doctor was real pretty.”

“Mum!”

“I’m joking, relax baby. How are you now, though, Harry?”

“You two are little partners in crime, trying to get me put up in hospital,” Zayn mutters. Harry rolls his eyes fondly and takes the phone.

“I’m honestly okay, just the stiffness. I should probably be trying to get out of bed soon, yeah?” he directs the last bit to Zayn.

“We’ll check with your doctor and see if she wants you to put it off for any reason.”

“Your girls are right here, hold on,” Trisha says. Harry hears her call for them though the words are quieter as if she’s covered the speaker with her hand. “Come say hi to your daddies.”

“Daddy?” he hears and the single word tugs his heart.

“Hey Go-go, baby,” Harry says, holding the phone closer to his ear as if he could make her any closer.

“How was your poteration?” He can hear banging in the background like someone is playing drums on pots and pans. He doesn’t know if it’s Maven or one of her cousins but it’s doing nothing good for his headache.

“My ‘poteration’ was good, baby. I’m awake and just getting better now.”

“Can we come back to see you?”

“Oh, I’d love that but not tonight. Daddy has to sleep as much as possible right now.”

“Well, can baba come home, then?”

Zayn snorts and kisses Harry’s brow.

“He’s going to stay with me today, too. Your granny is going to bring you to see us tomorrow, though.”

“First thing in the morning?”

“Almost before you’re even really awake,” Harry promises. “Can I talk to Mav? I love you.”

“I love you, too. Maven’s been crying a lot. I told her to stop because she’s not a baby anymore but she doesn’t listen to me,” Margot sighs before she passes over the phone.

“That’s not nice…” Harry says but it doesn’t matter because then he hears Maven. “Hi darling!”

“Daddy!”

“How are you? Margot says you were crying?”

“Margot’s a tattle-tale,” she says, sighing identically like her sister had. “I just cried a little.”

“Why, ba-darling?” he corrects himself. Maven hates being reminded that she’s the baby.

“Miss you and baba. When can we come see you?”

“Not yet- I’m still not allowed to have you guys come up. I’m supposed to be doing nothing but sleeping, really, but baba lent me his phone so I could call you.”

“No one can come see you? Like when I’m sick and stay home from school and my friends can’t come play?”

“Exactly, no friends over when you’re sick. No girls over visiting daddy.”

“Okay. I get that.”

“Good girl. Are you being helpful for your granny?”

“I helped make breakfast and Margot is helping with dinner.”

“Who is that banging the pots?”

“John.”

Harry would roll his eyes again but the first time hurt so much he doesn’t think he should risk it. “Of course it is. Well, daddy’s going to let you go now-“

“Noooo, stay!”

“I’ve got to go, darling, but I love you. You be good for granny, okay?”

“Okay.”

“No more tears, alright? You’ll see me tomorrow.”

“Us,” Zayn mutters but there’s no heat behind it. Harry shushes him.

“Love you, darling.”

“Love you, daddy. Bye bye.”

Harry hangs up the phone, eyes closed against the drum beat still playing in his brain. “Doniya’s boy is _not_ musically talented.”

“He’s two.”

“He’s terrible.”

“Why don’t you get some sleep and stop ragging on a toddler,” Zayn suggests. “I’m going to see if the cafeteria has any soup you like.”

“Not tired,” Harry says, though he’s a hundred percent lying. Talking on the phone shouldn’t be so exhausting. “Tired a little,” he amends.

“Want chicken noodle?”

“Anything but applesauce.”

“Promise,” Zayn says, leaning in for a quick kiss before he leaves.

 

 

 

“Alright, this is it,” Zayn says from behind the camcorder. He has the strap over his fingers and the lens cupped in his palm, a shit-eating grin barely visible from Harry’s vantage point. Harry gives the camera a wry smile anyway. “Today is Harry’s seventh day post-op. What are we gonna do today, babe?”

“We’re gonna walk without any support,” he says happily.

“No canes!” Margot cheers, skipping into the frame and doing a pirouette that would have her namesake proud.

Not to be outdone, eight months younger but twice as hyper, Maven comes jump-roping along. Zayn’s other hand is looped through the end of Tilly’s lead and he clucks to the dog to stay at his side. “Daddy can’t take you yet,” he tells her. “Soon.”

“Soon I’ll be back on my morning runs,” Harry boasts, though he grimaces a little and calls his own bluff when he takes the final step down from the porch. “Maybe not soon.”

“C’mon, daddy!” Maven encourages, hopped halfway down the block already.

“I’m right here,” Harry assures them. He’s been experiencing quite a bit of stiffness in his hips since the operation so he doesn’t move as easily as he used to. He shuffles along without pause, though, and is soon at the end of the driveway. The girls are up ahead of him, Margot still dancing. “How come you won’t go to ballet class but you’ll sashay down the sidewalk?”

“Class is boring,” Margot answers.

“No it isn’t!” Maven argues.

“You don’t like dance anyway!”

“Do so!”

“Do not!”

“Girls,” Zayn sighs. “I refuse to get tape of you two arguing _every_ time I pull out the camera.”

“She started it!”

“No I didn’t!”

“I don’t care,” Harry sighs, slowing but not stopping when he gets to the corner. He twists carefully.

“Sorry, daddy,” Maven says, letting her rope hang from her hand and coming up to Harry’s side. “Can I walk with you?”

“Sure, darling. Apologise to Mar, first.”

“I’m sorry, Margot,” Maven says easily. She’ll do anything her daddy asks her to and usually without a fuss.

“Thank you,” Harry says, taking her hand. She adjusts her stride to meet his without question.

“I’m sorry, too,” Margot says, spinning on her toes. “Daddy, can I change my mind about dance class?”

“You want to go?” Harry asks. His face lights up and the camera catches it all. “You can always change your mind.”

“Can I change my mind about being sorry?” Maven asks. Harry shushes her. “Not fair.”

“We can look at setting you up for an after school class, Go-go,” Zayn says. “Do you want to go with her, Mav?”

“Nope! I want to hang out with daddy.”

 _I’m the favourite_ , Harry mouths to the camera.

“We all know, babe,” Zayn says. He doesn’t mind, not when his daughter and his husband both have big ole’ smiles on their faces like they do right now. Zayn pockets the camcorder and steps up next to his husband. He thumbs over the spot on his lower back where there’s still a plaster and gauze. “You feelin’ good?” he asks, keeping Tilly away from Harry’s legs.

“I feel _great_ ,” Harry assures him, slowly leaning in for a kiss. “I’m so happy we decided to go in for the surgery. I’m counting down the days to when I can pick up my girls without having you yell at me to ‘mind your back, Harry’.”

“I don’t sound anything like that,” Zayn laughs. “I just knew that it always hurt more than you let on. When your last specialist couldn’t fix it…”

“I know, babe, but we’ve done it now. Nowhere to go but forward.”

Zayn smiles and nods, indicating the whole family around them, all heading out together. “We’re right here with you the whole way,” he promises. “All the way home and back out again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! [Come say hi](http://iamleighbot.tumblr.com/)!


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